


what would it take for you to notice? (that i am a heart on fire and all the world's a fuse)

by MotherKarizma



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Family, Everyone Loves Peter Parker, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Oneshot, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, The Avengers Are Good Bros, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, but they love him anyway because how could you not, the team doesn't know peter's identity yet, they know he's young but they don't know HOW young
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:40:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22632841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotherKarizma/pseuds/MotherKarizma
Summary: "Spider-Man?" Steve's hand was too tight on his shoulder, shaking him, voice fading in and out over the ringing in Peter's ears. "Spider-Man, talk to me. Are you hurt?"Over the comm, Tony was sharp; nervous, verging on panicked. "Come again? Something about 'Spider-Man' and 'hurt'?""'M not hurt," Peter said, and promptly collapsed.-----Peter is injured in a battle that he was clearly and specifically instructed not to join. Tony is very Upset™.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Steve Rogers, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 38
Kudos: 833





	what would it take for you to notice? (that i am a heart on fire and all the world's a fuse)

In his defense, Peter probably wouldn’t have even known the Avengers were in battle if Tony hadn’t sent him that preliminary text.

…he probably would have, actually – but that wasn’t the point.

His thigh buzzed halfway through Spanish. Peter’s hand itched toward his pocket. He entertained about five seconds of internal debate before pulling the phone out while Miss Ortega’s back was turned.

_Don’t worry about it. Stay in school. – T.S._

Peter frowned, brows furrowed. He briefly wondered if this was some sort of Boomer anti-drug PSA he was too Gen Z to understand. The next message that came through, this one from Ned, corrected him:

_holy shit dude!!! killer robots attacking avengers tower!! attached link: CNN news._

And another: _*stark tower?_

 _avengers tower again,_ Peter replied, then caught Ned’s eye from across the room. _fish tacos tasted off today. back me up?_

_be careful._

Peter gave his friend one firm nod, then shot his hand in the air, a carefully crafted and perfected look of distress painted on his face.

“Miss Ortega? I don’t feel very good…”

* * *

Spider-Man swung onto the scene just as the Hulk was body-slamming a hoard of flying killer robots – _a hoard of flying killer robots_ – away from the side of Avengers Tower.

“Cool,” Peter murmured, perching atop a ledge to take stock of the battle before diving in headfirst. He wasn’t _completely_ irresponsible.

Everyone seemed to be holding their own well enough (but of course they were, because they were the _Avengers._ ) Everyone except for Captain America (Captain-freaking-America!) who was trying to evacuate what had to be nearly a hundred civilians from a smoking, crumble-walled office building.

Peter squinted and looked closer, past all the soot obscuring Cap’s blue spandex. The man was pressing two fingers to his ear and shouting something – presumably talking to the rest of the team.

“Karen,” Peter said, “connect me to the comms.”

“You’re supposed to be in Spanish class,” she replied coolly.

“Karen! Come on, please just do it. Mister Rogers needs my help – people are in danger!”

It was silent for a long moment. Peter began to fear that Karen had decided to report his truancy to Mister Stark instead. She had a history of such traitorism.

“…fine,” she said finally. “Connecting you now.”

“Thanks, Karen! You’re the best.”

Peter started to swing in Captain Rogers’ direction just as the comm link crackled to life in his ears. Over the background chaos of screams and various things breaking, Steve shouted.

“–back-up! I’m not gonna be able to get everyone out before this thing comes down!”

“We’re all a tad bit preoccupied right now,” Tony said tensely, followed by a yelp of pain. “ _Son of a_ – sorry, Capsicle, you’re just gonna have to figure something out.”

Peter skidded to an unceremonious halt in front of Captain Rogers on the wrecked street, voice cracking as he said, “I-I’m back up! I’m here, I can help!”

Rogers, in the middle of lowering a coughing, crying woman to sit on the edge of the sidewalk, stared blankly at him for a second, then recognition flashed through his eyes. “Queens.”

Simultaneously, Tony yelled, “Oh, for _fuck’s sake,_ kid, I swear to God–“

“Glad you’re here, son.” Captain Rogers had clearly misunderstood his teammate’s anger as being directed toward their metallic opposition. “There’s a lot of people still inside. Swing up to the top floor and–“

“Like fuck is he doing _anything!_ Cap, that kid can’t even grow facial hair yet, you have no idea what you’re doing right now–“

“You sicced him on me in Germany.”

“Because I knew you wouldn’t hurt him!”

“Tony,” Cap said evenly, way more calm and collected than he had any right to be in the midst of battle. “Either Spider-Man helps me evacuate these civilians, or this building is coming down with innocent people inside. We don’t have time to debate this.”

Peter added while bouncing on his heels, wrists itching where his webshooters waited, “I can evacuate civilians _so fast._ I’m so good at evacuating people.”

Tony groaned. “Pe – kid, I swear, if you’re not within a hundred foot radius of Cap at all times–“

Peter took that as permission. “Got it!”

“Start breaking windows and lowering people down,” Captain Rogers instructed, while Mister Stark swore a few more times and then grew quiet. “I’ll finish emptying the ground floor.”

Peter did exactly as he was told – and, not to toot his own horn, but he did it just as quickly as he’d thought he would, not even taking the time to hug the more traumatized office workers (though he desperately wanted to). He was beginning to inflate his own ego, thinking that surely Tony would call him in on future battles from now on, taking into account his superb evacuation skills.

When he went to remove the last remaining civilian from the small pile of collapsed wall support her leg was stuck beneath, said ego popped like a balloon.

“Hey, hey, relax,” Peter said to the hyperventilating woman, grunting as he lifted rubble from her skewed limb. “I’m here to help. We’re gonna get you out of here, alright?”

The smoke, which had only been slightly cloying when Peter arrived, was starting to grow unbearable as the fire spread. He coughed and gasped roughly but pressed on, until Karen said, “Hurry, Peter. The building’s structural integrity is failing.”

“Wh – how?” Peter rasped. “You said we had approximately ten minutes left!”

“That was eight minutes ago, Peter.”

“Oh.” He moved faster, head growing dizzy from the smoke, heart pounding. “I’m almost done – she’s almost out – shit, _shit_ –“

“What’s ‘shit’, kid?” Tony asked. “Are you hurt?”

“No, no, I’m fine, just – just gotta hurry–“

“Queens, come on. FRIDAY says you have a minute and forty-five seconds left. Time to get yourself out of there.”

Peter cried out in frustration. “Hang on! She’s still – I’m almost done, almost–“

“Rogers, I swear, if _another_ building falls on that kid–“

“I’m trying, Tony! Spider-Man, I’m sorry, but you’re gonna have to leave her, or you’ll be going down, too.”

“No!” Frantic, desperate, vision almost entirely obscured by smoke, Peter took hold of the woman’s leg and yanked. She screamed, but the limb came free. “I’ve got her! She’s – she’s out, I got her out!”

“Queens! Come on!”

Peter carried the woman to the window, mumbling cough-punctuated apologies each time she made a sound at the jostling of her mangled leg. A hand over her eyes to shield her from the shattered glass around the perimeter of the window, her arms looped around his neck, he stepped out onto the ledge.

“Hey, hey – we’re just gonna–“ Peter coughed harshly, gagging around phlegm. “–just gonna web up your wrists, just like this, and lower you down, and Captain Rogers – down there, with the shield thingy – he’s gonna catch you, okay?”

The woman whimpered and nodded, her own breath rasping, pupils blown wide with shock.

Peter’s biceps trembled with exertion as he lowered her into Cap’s waiting arms – the spider bite had given him super strength, sure, but he wasn’t immune to fatigue. Still, he held the line steady until the civilian’s weight was entirely held by Captain Rogers, then watched as he carried her across the street to where her coworkers were being tended to by EMTs.

“Good job, Queens,” Cap said as he set her down, exhaustion seeping into his voice. “Now get down here before–“

The floor rumbled.

Peter had hardly caught his breath yet, lungs straining, arms shaking. He was in no shape to swing his bodyweight on a web, but the building was literally falling down around him, so he did the thing one step up from being crushed.

Peter jumped.

He must have blacked out; when his eyes next opened, he was lying face-down on the street with no recollection of the impact. He was, thank _God,_ not beneath the building – or, what used to be the building. He lay nearby it, some stray dust and debris covering his suit. A sharp pain shot through his chest as he coughed up blackened mucus. Peter winced at the sight. “Gross.”

“Underoos?” Tony said in his ear. “Come on, kid, answer me. Rogers?”

Peter groaned and propped himself up on his elbows. “I’m good, I’m fine. Just – fell a little – breathed in some smoke – I’m good, Mister Stark.”

Rogers approached and knelt beside him, one hand on his back and the other on his arm to steady him as he clambered to his feet. “You’ve got balls, son. Are you okay?”

“He’s talking, so he’s fine,” Tony said. Peter winced. Even a mile and half away, he could hear his mentor fuming. “In a _shitload_ of trouble, but he’s fine.”

Someone else – Nat, it sounded like – chimed in, said something about wrapping up. The Hulk’s roar turned into Bruce Banner’s groan halfway through. Thor’s booming laughter, no doubt the result of post-battle endorphins, all but shook the sky. Clint made some shitty pun or another that was forgotten the instant it was said.

Peter swayed in place, trying to remember how to breathe. Something…didn’t feel right. Didn’t feel right at all. Felt quite _wrong_ , in fact.

…adrenaline crash? Yeah, that was it. Adrenaline crash. Maybe.

“Spider-Man?” Steve’s hand was too tight on his shoulder, shaking him, voice fading in and out over the ringing in Peter’s ears. “Spider-Man, talk to me. Are you hurt?”

Over the comm, Tony was sharp; nervous, verging on panicked. “Come again? Something about ‘Spider-Man’ and ‘hurt’?”

“’M not hurt,” Peter said, and promptly collapsed.

* * *

“…back with us? Okay, so, what _I_ don’t understand is…”

Peter squeezed his eyes tight against the fluorescent medical lighting and groaned.

“Tony…” Doctor Banner exhaled the name like a sigh. “I said we could try taking him off sedation, not that you could start yelling at him the second he woke up.”

“Yelling? Oh, no, Doctor Smash, see, this isn’t yelling, this is _ranting_ , there’s a difference–“

“Your ranting will have to wait.” Doctor Banner’s voice moved closer, directly by his ear now. A thumb peeled his eyelid open and shined a light inside. Peter flinched. “Peter? Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.”

A gloved hand rested against his palm. Peter squeezed. His eyes were heavy, sore, but he cracked them open. Immediately, his gaze locked onto Tony, standing at the foot of the bed with arms crossed, expression torn between anger and concern.

“’M sorry,” Peter croaked. “M’ster Stark. ‘M sorry.”

And though an oxygen mask encased his nose and mouth, he suddenly found it hard to breathe around the lump of emotion that rose in his throat, which matched the moisture blurring his vision.

He wasn’t crying, of course. He wasn’t sad at all, just overwhelmed. And scared. And a teensy bit traumatized. And tired, and his chest hurt…

…maybe he was crying just a little.

Tony sighed, most of the hardness fading from his face as he sat on the edge of the bed and laid an awkward hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Hey – let’s not do the emotion thing right now, yeah? You’re gonna cry, and then I’ll start crying, and then Bruce will blubber like a _baby,_ and it’s just, it’s just gonna be this whole, big mess, so…”

Peter nodded and pushed the not-sadness down. “Sorry. It’s fine, ‘m fine.”

“And, see, there it is again, the ‘I’m fine’ thing, when you’re obviously–“

“Tony.”

Surprisingly, Tony was obedient. He kept his mouth shut and allowed Bruce to finish his examination. Bruce left after several long minutes (but not before discreetly pointing out a little red call button on the wall beside the bed, ‘in case he needed to be rescued’) and Tony fixed his eyes back on Peter.

“Like I was saying,” he continued, less angry than before but still firm. “What I don’t understand is why, even though you were supposed to be in French class, learning how to say ‘please date me, I’m a desperate nerd’ to impress girls who don’t speak French–“

“–take Spanish, actually, but–“

“–you instead made the deliberate choice to join a fight that I clearly and specifically instructed you not to join. Listen to me, I sound old. You’re making me sound old.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter said again. “It was just – she was stuck there, and she was scared, and I couldn’t just leave her to…”

Peter reached up to remove the pesky oxygen mask from his face, but Tony caught his hand.

“Nuh-uh.” He shook his head and tapped the plastic gently. “Either this stays on, or you don’t get to talk. You punctured a lung with your own broken rib. _Punctured,_ Parker.”

The idea of being stuck listening to Tony rant, not allowed to respond, was somehow more terrifying than the whole punctured vital organ thing. Peter nodded fervently. Tony released his hand.

“Do you remember–“ Peter paused to cough harshly, waving off Tony when he sat up a little straighter at the sound. “–remember when I said that, when you can do the things I do but you don’t, and then the bad things happen, they…”

“…happen because of you,” Tony finished, giving Peter a chance to catch his breath, and nodded slowly. “Yeah, kid. I remember.”

“I couldn’t just let someone die, Mister Stark. Not when I had the power to save them. I just – I _couldn’t_.”

Tony sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why do you need to have such a strong moral compass? Can’t you be a normal, selfish, moody teenager?”

“Dunno. Never tried.”

A hint of a smile ghosted Tony’s face, but was gone quickly. “I get it, kid. Believe me, I do. But, listen – I’ve been in this game a long time, alright? I know what’s too dangerous for you and what isn’t, and I need you to trust me on that.”

“But I–“

“You will _get there,_ Peter. Okay? You’ll get to move up and play in the major leagues with us someday. I’m not saying you won’t. I’m just asking you to be patient.”

That…made a lot of sense. Too much sense for Peter’s liking, because it flew in the face of his earlier logic. Shoulders drooped, he looked down at his lap and nodded, more warmed than he wanted to admit by the way Tony’s thumb rubbed circles on his shoulder.

“So who was it?” Peter asked after a moment. “Sending the flying killer robots after you, I mean.”

“An ex-employee with a grudge and leftover tech. Duh.”

“Why ‘duh’?”

Tony quirked an eyebrow at him. “Kid, you’ve got a lot to learn. It’s _always_ an ex-employee with a grudge and leftover tech.”

Peter thought of the Vulture and swallowed hard. “Fair enough.”

“Anyway.” Tony stood, glancing out the window at the setting sun. “You should probably go ahead and get some sleep while you still can. You’ve got a long night ahead of you.”

“…why?”

Tony smirked. “Because your aunt’s gonna be here in an hour.”

“Please, Mister Stark, I’m begging you: puncture my other lung now.”

“What, and miss the show? Nah, kid, I’m gonna go make some popcorn and call the rest of the team down here is what I’m gonna do…”

**Author's Note:**

> fic title is borrowed from [rise against - methadone](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3zj8bITPNY0)
> 
> you can find me on tumblr at [motherkarizma.tumblr.com](https://motherkarizma.tumblr.com/)
> 
> thank you for taking the time to read my work!


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